life's always turning
by ncfan
Summary: Ecthelion finds himself taking care of a child. The idea terrifies him.


I own nothing.

* * *

The married couple who lived next to him and Laurefindil died within months of each other; it was rather startling, really. Vanilírë fell asleep and never woke up—from what Ektelion understands, childbirth sapped her of most of her strength—and Eriest was killed in some sort of accident. From what Ektelion understands, Eriest, despite being a weaver and by no means a stonemason, was trying to help stonemasons who were working on reparation of a crumbling wall, and the wall itself collapsed entirely before Eriest could get out of the path of the falling stones.

In truth, Ektelion knows the couple's child far better than he knows either of the boy's parents. An inappropriate thing to admit to, under the circumstances, but it's served him well, considering what he's done about Erestor's current situation.

Erestor is a pensive, curious child, but as of right now he seems more confused than anything else. Mama has gone to the Undying Lands, that he understands, and now Papa has gone after her. Mama left because she was tired, and Erestor is very confused indeed about this, because from what he understands, Noldor aren't allowed to go to the Undying Lands, and Ektelion winces and nods, and says he's right, but Vanilírë's a special case.

Alright. Papa's a Sinda, so he can go if he wants to. But why didn't he take Erestor with him, then? Erestor looks decidedly disquieted at the thought of his father going off to the Undying Lands without him, and Ektelion pulls him closer and says that it's far too soon for Erestor to go to the Undying Lands. Maybe sometime later.

Someone has to take care of the child. That much is obvious. Vanilírë's kin all either stayed in Aman or were killed during the crossing of the Ice. No one knows if Eriest has any living family or how to contact them, and besides, the child is Noldorin. Only through his mother, but he is still a Noldo, and the Noldor do not leave their children to be raised by outsiders.

"Is he asleep?" Ektelion asks as Laurefindil files back into the cramped sitting room and collapses into the other chair, starting to chew at the ends of his golden hair before remembering not to and spitting it out.

Laurefindil quirks a smile. "Yes, finally."

"No thanks to you, I suppose." Since the little boy was born, Laurefindil has taken entirely too much pleasure teasing Erestor, who is very easy to tease and seems to take especial offense to Laurefindil's teasing. Ektelion would tell him that it's only Laurefindil's way of showing affection, but he's not entirely sure how well Erestor would understand that, and the frowning little boy would likely only take Ektelion's explanation as further teasing.

Laurefindil's wide gray-green eyes are alight with indignation. "I did everything you told me to do with him, Ektelion—and this despite the fact that you've never had a child; how exactly do you _know _all of this, anyways? Erestor just wanted a story, that's all." He grimaces. "And then he wanted _another _story, because he didn't like the first one I'd told him and neglected to tell me until I was done telling it to him. Little monster," he mutters, but without rancor.

Ektelion smirks; Erestor's found a way to get back at Laurefindil, it seems. A wave of lethargic fatigue, thick and sluggish, settles over his shoulders, and he's suddenly keenly aware of how dark it is outside. He fights back a yawn as he asks, "Which bed did you put him in?" They had gathered up what few toys and other possessions, such as clothing, that Erestor has when Ektelion and Laurefindil moved him to their house, but there isn't enough room in their little house for a child's bed, and neither of the adult Elves have the money, apart or together, to find a larger house to live in, not yet.

"Yours. He said he wanted to sleep with you. He also says I snore."

His knees ache as Ektelion gets to his feet. "I'd better go on to bed, then, before he really drifts off. Good night, Laurefindil."

"Good night," Laurefindil responds absently, staring blankly out the dark window. Ektelion wonders if he'll get up tomorrow morning and find his friend sleeping in that chair.

It's a short walk from the sitting room to the room where Ektelion sleeps. The room is dominated by the bed, which really isn't wide enough to support both an adult and a child comfortably, but they'll make do, and Erestor doesn't seem to mind it. Ektelion isn't sure what they're going to do as the child grows.

Erestor lies on his side under the quilt, his eyes shut, but Ektelion can tell that he isn't yet asleep. The ends of his mother's frayed, tatty purple shawl stick out from under the quilt. How many nights has Erestor insisted on going to sleep with it wrapped about his shoulders? Ektelion lets him because he knows it's a comfort to the child, to have something of his parents', to have something that reminds him of his mother. At least he'll have another blanket when the cold weather comes.

As Ektelion snuffs out the candle by the bed and pulls the quilt up to lie down to sleep himself, the child's dark eyes flutter open. "Laurefindil can't tell good stories," he mumbles.

Ektelion smiles faintly, meeting Erestor's gaze. "I know you like him, even if you don't want to admit it."

He shakes his head. "Nah-uh."

"Oh, go to sleep, Erestor."

Vanilírë named her child Aurion, Son of Sunlight. Ektelion doesn't find the name particularly apt for this dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned and overly-serious child. The only time it seems appropriate is when this increasingly solemn little orphan smiles—he has a smile that could dim the Sun for its brightness. But Ektelion doesn't see it very often anymore. It used to be that his flute-playing could bring a smile to Erestor's no matter the circumstances, but that no longer seems to be the case.

So Ektelion has a son, of sorts. At the very least, he does indeed have a ward, a child he needs to look after and take care of. He'd taken Erestor in without a second thought; it was the only decent thing to do. But the idea of being a father in any sense of the word quite frankly terrifies him.

What will he do when Erestor is older, and starts to ask more questions about his parents? What will he do when Erestor is too big to share the bed with him, needs more food than he does now and needs new clothing? Ektelion never had any siblings, older or younger, and all of his childhood friends were roughly the same age as him. He never had to provide emotional guidance to anyone. Laurefindil says that he had sisters back in Aman, but that they were both much older than he was. He's not sure he knows how to be a father. He's not sure he can raise a child.

Ektelion smoothes stray hairs out of Erestor's face, finding that the child has indeed fallen asleep. _I will do my best, _he promises himself, and the boy asleep next to him. _I must. I owe you that much._

* * *

Laurefindil—Glorfindel  
Ektelion—Ecthelion


End file.
